


Dust

by Sophisme



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fix-It, Gen, M/M, Post-Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker, Post-War, Slow Burn, Tatooine (Star Wars)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:47:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21976834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sophisme/pseuds/Sophisme
Summary: After everything is said and done, Rey Skywalker and Ben Solo build sandcastles on Tatooine.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Poe Dameron & Finn & Rey, Poe Dameron/Finn, Rey/Ben Solo
Comments: 18
Kudos: 215





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've always had emotions about Star Wars (read: Luke Skywalker and Padme Amidala), but this is ridiculous. I liked the movie and the ending, but I just couldn't cope. Sue me.

Ben Solo ascends.

He ascends. Not in the way Kylo Ren would have wanted to, but the way Ben knows he must. His body is broken. He can feel it with every movement, the broken bones and the all-consuming ache. He ignores it, uses the Force to keep the loose ends together and climbs. She is _alone_ and he has a promise to keep, so he climbs. The world rattles and there are violent waves in the Force that shake him to the core. There is a sound, somewhere above, like the world is ending and the skies falling. He prays to the Force that she is not falling with it.

With sheer will and Force he makes it to the top and seeks her instinctively. She lies on the floor in the middle of the destruction and rubble, unmoving on her side. He has known fear before, but never like this. _Never_ like this. Yet, he can still feel her lingering in the Force, clinging on, but fading fast, so he makes his way to her, one agonizing step at the time.

He gathers her up and, _stars_ , why is she so small? She was never so small before, surely. Her eyes are open, seeking his, and there is a flash of recognition and relief, before they are closing and she is _fading_.

“ _No_ ,” he grits out, desperate, and reaches out with Force, grasping for her.

_Ben,_ calls a voice somewhere, his mother’s, calm and comforting. There is a breath trapped in his chest and he lets it out slowly and closes his eyes. His hand comes to rest on her, gently, carefully. She saved his life once, so it is easy to return the favour, the Force jumping eagerly to return to her. He lets it go, willing to give all of it, if he must.

In the end, it does not come to that. She comes to with a breath, a slight hand coming up to cover his and a dry, desperate sound, almost like a sob, escapes him. She is worn, broken, listless in his arms, but _alive_. Hazel eyes are seeking his and warming with something foreign.

“Ben,” she breaths and smiles, and whatever is left of his heart breaks. She reaches a hand out to him, brushing his face, and then kisses him, briefly and recklessly but decisively.

If he had not forgotten a long time ago how to cry, he is sure he would do it now out of sheer wonder and relief. His grip on her tightens and she breaths a pained hiss against him. _Gently, gently._ If she is in half the pain he is, it is a miracle she is conscious at all. He loosens his hold and settles her down carefully on the dusty floor. He checks her injuries meticulously, but she seems to be mostly whole, only depleted and worn to the core.

She stares at the sky and the flickering lights of the space crafts in the dawning light. He has trouble looking away from her, so he doesn’t bother trying.

“I don’t think I can walk,” she admits after a while, quiet and raspy.

“I don’t think I can carry you,” Ben replies.

The oppressive gravity of Exegol is getting too much to bear, so he allows himself to collapse on the stone floor next to her. She is close enough to touch, but he doesn’t dare now that he has no excuse. He lies there and stares at her bloodied, tear-tracked face, committing it to memory.

She turns to look at him, the corners of her mouth quirking upwards. She’s beautiful, even like this. _Especially_ like this; victorious and _alive_ , undefeated and unyielding. Ben knows he loves her, but what is one more sin among the others. This is one of his lesser ones.

“Thank you,” she says, then. He blinks his confusion at her and she amends, “For coming.”

It was never a choice. She is like gravity to him, inevitable. He searches for words to express this, but nothing is forthcoming, so he only nods. She must know by now, after everything.

There are movements in the shadows, quiet, but undeniably there. Eyes watching, waiting, defeated but not gone.

“We cannot stay here,” he points out.

“What? You were quite insistent that we come. The decor not to your liking after all?” she asks and it is as if she slapped him, unexpected and stinging. But her face is serene and she peers at him through her half-closed lids. She is teasing him, he realizes and doesn't know what to do with it.

He glances around the grim rubble, the broken pillars and the deep grooves in the stone where the throne used to sit.

“No, I quite like what you have done with the place,” he says and it is too serious a response, his voice lacking the correct lilt and lightness, but she does not seem to mind. She is smiling at him again like she has no intention of stopping. It still lingers on her face, when she too steals a look around and heaves a weary breath.

“You’re right. We can’t say here,” she says and begins to gingerly climb up. He moves to help her, ignoring the flare of pain in his own body. In the end it’s impossible to say who is helping who, as they limp through the darkness.

“You should go,” he says when they begin to reach the surface, even though it pains him worse than any of his numerous physical injuries. “There are people expecting you.”

“Not without you,” she replies and she is resolute, determined, and he is so incredibly tired, and has been for such a long time that he doesn’t even try to argue.

He is ultimately selfish, always has been.

...

“This is a bad idea,” he points out, even though she must know it.

“I have to see them,” she says, “To be sure that they’re alright.”

“You should have left me on Exegol,” he says, but doesn’t say, _you should have left me for dead_ , because he is too self-serving for that, even if it is the truth.

They come out of the woods to a flurry of noise and people and wildly beeping droids. Her eyes are searching the crowd, urgent and quicksilver fast. When she finds what she is looking for, a soft sound leaves her, something between a sigh and a sob and a cry, and with quick half-running steps she leaves his side. He wonders, idly, if he will ever have her within a reaching distance again, while he stands there counting seconds to the inevitable that they realize his presence.

She skips through the crowd and throws himself at the black man who is the first to reach her, but mere second later another man joins them. Ben recognizes them easily enough, FN-2187 and the spice runner pilot that intercepted rebellion messages had long painted as his mother’s successor. As if anyone could live up to Leia Organa's impossible standard.

They cling to each other, the three of them, desperately and oblivious to the world. It stirs something uncomfortable in him, something that makes his fingers itch for the cold comfort of a saber. Ben is not jealous, per se, because he knows that it is different, less significant and less predestined than whatever resides between himself and Rey, but maybe _envious_ of their casual intimacy.

FN-2187 notices him first and then there is a blur of motion, yelling, and mere seconds pass before every blaster in the clearing is directed at him. Rey looks at him with something like alarm and Ben very carefully does not let his blank expression slip, but _he did tell her._

“Rey, _Rey_ , what the fuck?” the pilot is yelling, “What the fuck is he doing here?”

“I could hardly leave him there, now could I?” she’s yelling back, equally agitated now, while FN-2187 is pulling at her arm, as if to tug her behind his back and it is a ridiculous notion that he could protect her from him of all people.

Rey wrenches her arm free. “Dameron! Can we just _talk-"_

“Can’t we just kill him?” someone suggests.

“All in favour say ‘aye’,” Dameron calls out, all anger and reckless heat, and calls aye immediately after. There are multiple voices that join him. 

“Democracy,” the pilot says, smugly, like he is winning an argument, and Ben calculates quickly that he has just enough time to deflect the blaster shot if he calls one of Rey’s sabers to him and he’ll have most of them dead before Rey has the time to--

“No!” Rey cries out, sharply, a lone voice of disagreement. Eyes turn to her at once, accusing, but she stands her ground, “No, we can’t _kill_ him.”

“Why not? He’s done enough to deserve it,” Dameron points out and his aim does not waver.

“Because he saved my life,” Rey argues and she takes the steps that put her between Ben and the blaster. He makes an automatic, aborted movement towards her, before he catches himself. The desire to shield her is instinctive, though decidedly unnecessary. She has proven herself, and there’s very little a measly pilot with a blaster could do. The man lets the blaster fall to his side immediately, anyway, but his face does not lose any of the rage.

“Oh, how very noble! So his saving lives to taking lives ratio is, what, one to a couple million?” he bites out and though his numbers are off, the point is valid.

Rey is stubborn, her jaw jutting out and eyes flashing. “It’s not _right_ and you know it!”

It would be the right thing to do, Ben knows, but under the circumstances he cannot allow it, so he interrupts, “Killing me now would mean killing her as well.”

There’s a beat of confused silence, so he carries on, “We’ve exchanged an equal measure of life Force. We’re no longer separate in it, but one.” He pretends indifference when he says it, but when Rey turns to look at him, startled, the significance of it cuts him to the core.

He reaches for Force experimentally, lightly, and it flows through her first, as if she were the one using it. Her eyes widen minutely, so he knows she feels it too. He tugs a loose lock of hair behind her ear with it and acknowledges that it might be the least violent thing he has ever done with the skill he has been given.

It’s FN-2187 who speaks next, “If you’re pulling this out of your ass--”

“He’s not,” Rey interrupts. Her expression is open with something vulnerable. “I can feel it.”

She tugs at the Force as she says it and he feels it in his very bones. He sways towards her, but common sense wins before the dozen blasters aimed at him and he forces himself to stand still. Fortunately, no one else seems to notice his lapse, but Rey looks suddenly amused, carefully playful.

“Well, we have to do _something_ about him,” someone points out and the light leaves Rey’s face. There’s sudden, furious urge to throttle, but he crushes it quietly, determinedly.

“He stays with me,” Rey says and there is little room for argument in her tone. The pilot opens his mouth to argue, anyway, but she interrupts him, “General, not today. Please.”

She sounds tired and pleading and Dameron folds.

“By the stars, Rey, if he steps one toe out of line…” he says, still agitated and clearly searching for an expression strong enough to match his fervent tone.

Ben knows what she will say, before she even opens her mouth. She is proud, reckless, and endlessly righteous, so of course he knows. Her eyes are on him, when she spells the words, “Then I’ll kill us myself.”

Ben can’t quite help it, he smiles at her. She blinks, confused and suddenly less certain.

The rebellion General visibly flounders, before nods slowly, “That is not the answer I was looking for, but fine. Just keep him in line.”

...

Later, when they’re alone, but not really, he says to her quietly, “That is quite clever. Keeping what I want a hostage under the pain of death to keep me in line.”

He does not spell it out, does not say how it would have made her grandfather proud, because she is clever, indeed, and can make the connection. She shoots him a glare.

“You’re the bane of my existence,” she says, but it lacks the viciousness he knows she is capable of, so he counts it as a victory.


	2. Chapter 2

A Star Destroyer was brought down on a Frestian moon and the surviving First Order troops have begun a land assault on a local mining colony in a desperate bid to survive in the hostile environment. The colony urgently requests aid. As have the last fifteen messages Finn has waded through. The names of the planets change, the systems vary, the problems are slightly different, but the general gist of the messages remains the same.

This one asks for a confirmation of reception, a signerature, and Finn hesitates. What would he write? Just _Finn? General Finn?_ The name means a world to him because it is his, but it feels too informal for a formal request, so Finn discreetly slips the document into Poe’s pile of unfinished work and consequently notices that Poe has stopped working. He is staring across the campsite and Finn follows his gaze to where Rey and the former Supreme Leader stand together by the treeline, talking quietly. Rey is looking over the campsite with a small smile, but Ren only has eyes for her.

“General?” Finn tries. No reaction. “Poe?”

Dark eyes turn to him.

“He really creeps me out,” Poe hisses, “Why does he have to be _here_? We should toss him in a pit somewhere and throw away the key.”

“That’s probably not going to happen. Rey can be stubborn,” Finn replies and it’s an understatement.

“She’s out of her mind,” Poe says and shakes his head. “But that’s not really news, is it? I just don’t _get it_.”

Finn is not jealous, because that would be stupid and he’s done being stupid, ever since he ditched his Stormtrooper gear. So, he pretends to be wise about this too.

“Jedi stuff,” Finn shrugs, “I’m not sure we’re supposed to get it.”

It stings a bit, though, that he doesn’t get it, because maybe he _should._ There still hasn’t been the right time to tell Rey about the _feelings,_ the unerring _instincts_ and the inexplicable sense of _knowing._ Finn struggles to find the right words, even though he knows she would understand because he has watched her fumble in the dark, too.

“He’s putting everyone on edge,” Poe grumbles.

“I’ll talk to her,” Finn promises.

Poe sighs, heavily, his shoulders sagging. “We won the damn war. It’s not right that everyone still feels the need to sleep with a blaster under their pillows. I just want… I just want the fear to end.”

He’s not talking about Ren anymore or just the camp, Finn knows. An endless stream of these reports of power struggles across the galaxy has been pouring in since the Battle. The First Order may be slipping from power, but it has not disappeared yet, and the power vacuum is creating space for restlessness.

“You can’t save the entire galaxy alone,” Finn points out the obvious, “We’ll offer aid, of course, but people have to step up for themselves. That may require a lot of blasters under a lot of pillows.”

“I know, I _know_ ,” Poe waves a hand at him. “I just thought it would be easier, you know, after, or at least better. And it’s not. At least we had a goal earlier. Just win the war. Simple! I have no idea what to do next.”

He looks at Finn and there is weariness in his eyes. Finn wonders if he’s slept at all since Exegol.

“Now we just make sure that the fear ends. It will take time, but we’ll figure it out. We make a pretty good team, right? Won the war and all,” Finn tells him and it seems to be the right thing to say, because some of the tension leaves the other man’s shoulders.

Poe nods, slowly. “Yeah. That sounds like a plan. Not your best one, sure, but we'll work on it.”

Finn grins and nudges him, "How's this for working on it: I’ll get started by figuring out our resident Sith problem with this one Jedi I know, while _you_ go put a blaster under your pillow and catch a few winks on it.”

A tired smile crosses Poe’s face and he reaches out to lay a hand on Finn’s shoulder.

“Thank you,” he says and sounds so genuinely grateful that Finn can't help wondering how long has he been waiting for someone to give him the permission to forget about the galaxy for a moment and just sleep. There is a flicker on his face, like he considers saying something more, but in the end he shakes his head and changes his mind. “Just don’t let the galaxy fall, while I’m out.”

“After all the trouble we went through to save it?” Finn asks and his smile widens. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

...

Finn has dreamt of it, however, during the restless nights that passed before the Battle of Exegol. He would never admit it aloud to Poe or especially to Rey herself, but he has had the dreams where Rey chose differently; dreams where instead of rising, she fell, fast and reckless into the dark.

He knows where the dreams come from, because he has watched the struggle in her eyes for a long time now and witnessed the gravitational pull between her and Kylo Ren from the beginning. He has seen her tether between one destiny and another, and while he has not doubted her, never, not even once, he has doubted himself. He has dreamt that he had to make the choice too: the choice between a free galaxy and a new empire, between freedom and subservience, and ultimately between Rey and Poe, because Finn knows Poe would never bow, would never give an inch.

Finn has dreamt.

And he is _grateful_ that it hasn’t come to that. So relieved to his very core that his hands begin to tremble with it, if he thinks about it for too long. Because even in dreams it was not an easy choice to make. Sometimes he chose freedom, chose Poe, because he knows it is the right thing to do, and then fought to the bitter end until the entire galaxy dead and burnt to ash, waking drenched in cold sweat and gasping for breath. But sometimes he chose Rey, because she has become _vital_ to him a long time ago. Even as she fell in his dreams, she also ascended; became _magnificent_ , godlike in her power and ruthlessness. Finn pulled on his Stormtrooper helmet and followed her anywhere, because how could he not follow someone like that, someone so absolute and inevitable.

Finn considers this when he approaches Rey who is sitting by a fire, looking more like a girl than a Jedi in the cooling night. He looks at Kylo Ren who is never far from her side now, who has become more a man than a monster just by following her, and Finn thinks, _it could have been me_. Truly, he is grateful.

“Hey,” he greets her softly as he joins them, and the smile she shoots at him is delighted. She is grateful too, he knows, because the feeling swells between them mutely everytime they talk. Not that there have been many opportunities to talk in the hours that have passed. Between the relieved celebrations and desperate damage control in the aftermath of the battle, he feels he hasn’t really had time to breathe, let alone talk to Rey.

“How is everything going?” she asks.

“Busy,” he admits. “Calls for aid coming from every corner of the galaxy and we’re still counting casualties and cutting losses. We’re trying to get the fleet back in the air as soon as possible, so we’ll have eyes on the skies at least, but the main generator is coughing up bolts and grease. With the power shortages it’s slow work.”

“We have all the time now, don’t we?” she says, before they fall quiet.

It’s awful. It used to be so easy, talking with her, just _being_ with her. The more Jedi she has become, the further they seem to slip apart, as all the unsaid things pile higher. Kylo Ren’s silent, taunting presence is certainly not helping any.

“Maybe if you whip up a little lightning for us, Rey? That could help,” Finn suggests, unthinking.

“I can’t…” She swallows around the words, and he just wants to apologize. “I can’t do it intentionally. It has only ever happened when I lose control.”

She looks at Finn, uncomfortable, and something like shame or regret lurks in her eyes. Finn understands, or thinks he does. It is a stupid thing to joke about, but the opressive silence is making him nervous.

“Maybe if I piss you off enough?” Ren offers flatly and quietly from the otherside of the fire. It is such an odd thing to hear from him that Finn turns to stare. The former Supreme Leader’s eyes are dark and on Rey, and Finn would very much like to blast him him in the face, but Rey’s lips quirk upwards. The barely-there smile chases away the shadows, so Finn stays his hand.

“Well, it has worked in the past,” she agrees and they are staring at each other in the dark and, oh hell, _no_. Finn clears his throat loudly. Rey’s eyes snap to him and she looks sheepish to have been caught but also more at ease and less frightened than Finn has seen her in a long time, maybe ever since they left Jakku. It makes something swell sweetly in his chest. She is going to be alright.

“I didn’t come here to talk to you about the generator,” Finn admits.

She smiles. “I figured. What’s on your mind?”

Finn hesitates and shoots a glance at Ren.

“He would like to talk to you alone, but the idea of granting me freedom without your watchful eye causes him distress,” Ren points out. His tone is as flat and dead as ever, but there’s something unreadable on his face, something very human.

“You _are_ free,” Rey says immediately.

“No, he is not,” Finn shoots out sharply, the same second Ren responds, “No, I am not.”

When Rey speaks, it’s directed at Ren, “Yes, you are. You’ve done more than--”

“I do not mind, scavenger,” he says and she falls quiet in the middle of her sentence. “We both know freedom does not become of me. If I am to have a master to hold my leash, I will accept no other than you.”

There’s a beat of deafening silence, before Finn breaks it with an empathetic, “ _Okay_.”

He is trying to communicate his disbelief to Rey with his eyes, but she’s not even looking at him. She sits there looking pale and stricken, before she nods carefully.

“Alright,” she whispers and something wordless passes between them, before Ren raises quietly. He casts a look at Finn, both a warning and a threat, before he slips away and disappears.

“Rey…” Finn searches for words.

“I know,” she says.

“Do you?” Finn asks, dubiously, and she shoots him a look.

“I _know,_ ” she repeats.

They sit in silence for a moment, before a smile starts to steal onto Finn’s face. She catches it quickly and tries to glare, but it turns ridiculous quickly, until they’re both laughing. They laugh until there are tears on both of their faces and it is sort of difficult to breath. Old desperation and fear bubble out in a rush of relief.

“Shut up,” she orders, wiping tears from her cheeks and then from his cheeks.

“I’m really glad you’re okay,” he says, quieter. “For a moment there I was sure…”

“We’re okay,” she says firmly, “We will be okay.”

They sit quietly side by side for a moment, before he asks, “What happened down there?”

And she tells him about Exegol, the Emperor, the Sith. Her voice wavers and sometimes she stumbles, like it is getting too much, but he squeezes her hand comfortingly and she tells him everything. An invisible weight seems to disappear from her shoulders by the time she reaches the end. There are shadows on her face, little etchings that were not there before. She looks older or perhaps wiser, Finn figures. 

“Well, shit,” he comments after she is done and it startles a hiccup of a laughter from her.

“I couldn’t leave him there after that,” she says. Then, “And I didn’t want to.”

“He’s freaking Poe out,” Finn tells her, “You know how he gets. All twitchy.” _Trigger happy_ , he doesn’t say, but she hears it anyway.

“You are not freaking out?” she asks, observant.

“FN-2187,” he reminds, wrily but not unkindly, “Kylo Ren has always freaked me out, but it’s different. I’m used to it.”

It’s her turn to squeeze his hand and for a moment she looks regretful, apologetic. Then her expression shutters into something more stubborn.

“He’s not Kylo Ren anymore. I don’t know how to explain, but something has changed. He deserves a chance to be something more than he was,” she tells him and looks at him, imploring.

Finn grinds his teeth, seeking for words that will not drive her away, but which will convey his worry, “Rey, you don’t understand. The things he did… The things he has done. I’ve seen them firsthand. I was one of them, I’ve _seen_ them. It’s not something that can just be forgotten or forgiven.”

“He’s not the same, Finn,” she insists, her eyes begging him to listen.

He sighs, heavily, but gives, “Yeah, I can feel it.”

She opens her mouth, prepared to argue some more, but stops before the words emerge. She digests it a bit, then slowly, deliberately, asks, “What do you mean?”

Finn offers a small smile, lopsided, “I can feel it, Rey. I _know_. It feels different around him now, right? Less oppressive and suffocating, and more like _you,_ sort of lighter and static.”

She’s staring at him. “Finn…”

“Yeah, there’s something I never told you,” he says, letting a sheepish smile steal onto his face. Then she’s pulling him into a tight, bone-crushing hug, and they’re laughing again.

“What? How long?” she asks, looking at his face like seeing him for the first time.

“I don’t know. Always? It’s just a whole lot less than yours, so I didn’t think anything about it at first, but it has saved my ass so many times,” he says, shaking his head, “So it must be true, right?”

He looks at her, knowing the answer, but begging for certainty.

“Yes, _yes_ ,” she agrees with a nod, “You just need training. It gets a lot easier over time.”

“Yeah? Lucky for me, I might know someone who can help with that,” he smiles and squeezes her hand. Then he grows more serious, and adds, “In time. There’s so much to do now.”

“Yes, he needs you here,” Rey adds and her smile grows into something softer. “But once things calm down, come to me.”

“Where will you go?” Finn asks and even as he speaks he knows it’s in the plural. It will never be just her now, but the two of them. 

Rey hesitates. “Somewhere far enough. Someone might come looking for him,” she says, her eyes turning somewhere to their left and Finn knows who she’s searching for. A small smile crosses her face again, as she adds, “Somewhere warm. I’m tired of being cold all the time.”

When she looks at him, she has grown resolute, calm.

“Tatooine.”


	3. Chapter 3

Rey seeks out General Dameron the next day.

She has not been avoiding him on purpose, exactly, just maintaining a wise breadth of distance between them, because she knows he disapproves, knows that they will argue again, and he has enough on his mind as it is. But she will not sneak away into the night without him knowing, because it is not like that between them, hostile or inconsolable, and he is one of the few friends she has. She has grown fond of him somewhere between the world-saving, scheming and bickering, and the idea of leaving not just Finn but Poe behind too is difficult enough. The idea of leaving without a proper goodbye is intolerable.

Today he looks better than he has in a long while, rested and more centered; calm underneath the persistent restlessness he always seems to omit. He is skimming over star charts with a slight wedge of worry between his brows when Rey approaches.

“Your face will stick like that,” she warns. A flash of smile smooths the lines from his face when he looks up.

“It will just give me a flare of stately severity,” he claims. “Good for the image, you know.”

“I know. General Dameron,” she agrees and adds the title as an afterthought with a teasing lilt. Then she grows more serious. “We’re leaving.”

He looks surprised for a moment, then disapproving, before his expression settles into careful indifference.

“I see,” he says, “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Does any of us really know?” Rey points out and he huffs a reluctant laugh, conceding the point.

He turns back to the charts, eyes skimming across the data absentmindedly. He’s no Leia, but then again, no one could live up to that. He doesn’t have the same deeply established regard among the rebel lines, either, but he has grown into his role. The fact that he is here, hours on end, day after day, worrying about tomorrow and all the days that will follow is proof enough. Rey trusts him with the things that matter _here_ , the Resistance, the galaxy, and Finn, even though she knows she cannot trust him with Ben, because that would be too much to ask from the both of them. The only reason why she knows she can leave like this is that Poe Dameron will be there to watch over all the things she has come to hold dear.

“Promise you’ll keep an eye on Finn for me?” Rey asks quietly.

He swirls around to look at her, maps forgotten. “Wait, what? He’s not going with you?”

She blinks. “No, of course not. I thought… You made him general, didn’t you? Of course he’ll stay here and help.”

Not a small amount of relief sweeps across his face and some of the subtle tension bleeds from him.

“I just thought… you said that you’re leaving. Plural,” he says.

She understands at once and feels a bit guilty for not being clear in the first place. She still forgets that he is nowhere near as secure in his station or confident in himself as he pretends.

“No, I meant just me and...” she stops before saying the name, because she’s not quite sure what name to use. She’s been calling him Ben in her head for a long time now, but at the grimace of displeasure that appears on Poe’s face she doubts he’d appreciate it. “Yes, him,” she finishes lamely.

“He’s dangerous, Rey,” he points out, but she shakes her head stubbornly.

“Not to me,” she argues, and of this she is sure, even though many other things remain unclear.

The uncomfortable topic sits between them in the silence. Poe draws a breath and for a moment Rey is sure that they will fight about this, cruelly and loudly, and then depart on bad terms and she does not _want_ that. She has enough regrets as it is. Poe must read it on her face. He visibly bites back whatever he was doing to say.

“Just to be clear; for a Jedi, you’re a real dumbass,” he says instead and shakes his head despairingly. And this is why she loves him too, because he is truthful and genuine and even after everything that has happened, he still treats her as Rey first and a Jedi second.

“Oh, look who’s talking,” she huffs back, “Decorated rebellion general Dameron. You wouldn’t last a day without someone watching after you. That’s why I’m leaving Finn. At least he’s got some sense.”

Then she allows her smile to soften into something gentler, as adds, “You’re an idiot for thinking we’d leave without you.”

“Yeah, well, you’re an idiot for leaving without us,” he replies and turns wistful, “We could really use you here, Rey. You belong here.”

“I know,” she says. Then there is nothing else to add, because they both know that her leaving is as necessary and inevitable as him staying. It still stings behind her eyelids that it has come to this, so she forces a playful smile to hide it, and says, “I’m taking the Falcon, though.”

“Oh, come _on_ . You’re breaking my heart, woman, she’s the love of my _life_ ,” he groans, bringing a hand to his chest in an over-dramatic gesture of pain and desperation.

“That’s what you get for not treating her right. She’s always liked me better, anyway,” she tells him, then quirks a wry smile, “Besides, I said I’m leaving Finn.”

Several expressions cross his face in quick succession, but she catches enough to shoot him a smug smile.

“That is… fair enough,” he admits and then hesitates, before adds, “Same goes for BB-8, though. He’s always liked you better, too.”

She blinks, genuinely surprised, “Poe… I couldn’t--”

“Oh, shut up. You need someone out there to watch your back,” he interrupts. “But drop one more tree on him and the deal is off. I’m not kidding. I’ll come get him, no matter where you try to hide.”

She laughs. “I’m not going to hide, not from you guys. You’re welcome to visit anytime.”

“Yeah? Maybe we will. Same goes both ways,” he says. “Though, maybe leave Mr. Doom and Gloom on some nice desolate rock if you do. He really brings down the mood.”

Rey snorts a laugh and pushes him playfully, but Poe just grabs her in a one armed hug as an evasive move. If she clings to him a little desperately after that and sniffles a tear or two, then no one will ever know but the two of them.

...

She says her goodbyes to all the people that she has come to hold dear that night without really using the words. Only Finn and Poe know of her intentions and when the three of them exchange smiles, there is an undercurrent of sadness to it that disappears under the general cheer. It’s the third night in a row when the elevated mood brought on by victory and a new dawn of hope blooms in celebrations, music, dancing, and storytelling.

She soaks it in, even though she isn’t feeling festive, before smiles across the fires at Finn and Poe one last time. Then she slips from the crowd quietly and follows the familiar imprint in the Force. It calls to her all the time now, his presence, and she cannot tell whether it is because their connection has since amplified or because he is so close now, physically.

He sits on a supply crate close by the location where the two of them have settled their makeshift camp. They’ve slept close by for two nights now, in the shadows further away from the main camp, though they are never alone. Rey can feel their presence all the time: the guardsmen who are never far from where Ben is. As if they could do anything against him with nothing but blasters and the wild confidence of victory, but it is a blessing really, because the temptation to be ever closer grows with each night that passes. The unwavering presence of the guard helps resist it.

He looks up from the book he is eyeing, when she approaches. His face minutely softens, before a frown reappears. Rey wonders what her face must look like, if it conveys even a part of the heartache she is feeling, as the moment of departure approaches.

“I’m fine,” she tells him and joins him where he sits.

“Would you tell me, if you were not?” he asks, sounding curious and dubious in equal measure.

“I suspect you’d know anyway,” she replies and peers at the pages. It is the book about the wayfinder, the one with the foreign runes. Something tightens in her chest.

“Is it Sith?” she asks.

“Yes,” he replies, and from the way his eyes skim the pages, she knows he can read it with a practiced ease.

“It is just a language, scavenger,” he points out, sensing her unease. “I will teach you some day.”

“Threepio couldn’t translate it,” she argues weakly.

“That was not due to any fault of his. The law that forbade it was passed a long time ago out of fear,” he says and looks at her. He looks grimly amused. “But it is just a language and the real power was in the fear. It is quite elegant. By forbidding it, they only made it stronger.”

It makes her skin crawl: the runes, the way he speaks about it and what it all implies.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” he asks, then, observant and always unerring. She hates how easily he does it, knowing her, as if this was not entirely new and foreign to both of them; to share words which serve a purpose beyond carving, swaying and injuring; to inhabit a shared space without fearing, raging and craving.

“Always,” she replies unthinkingly, and something closes in his expression. Whatever was unguarded before, is now safely locked way. There is a bang of regret in her chest at the loss.

“That was not my intention,” he says and closes the book with a snap.

She wants to ask about his intentions, desperately. She wants to know why he’s still here, what he wants from her, because she cannot read his mind the way he seems to read hers. He has always left her feeling wrong-footed, but now it is even worse, because while he was straightforward and direct before, he has since become tightlipped and cautious around her.

She doesn’t ask. Instead she says, “Finn is Force sensitive.”

To his credit he doesn’t ask who. Instead, he nods a little and says, “More will surface, in time, and then they will seek you.”

“And not you?” she asks, challenging, and thinks of his Knights of Ren, the grim, dark beasts he had made and then cut down in the end, as if it were nothing.

“Some, certainly,” he agrees, “But only the desperate and the fools. I have killed too many of them before.”

He says is so casually truthfully, that at first she freezes, an old fear raising unbidden. When she sneaks a look at him, his expression is not as indifferent as the words suggest. There is something in his eyes, not quite regret, but something close enough that she cannot bring herself to flinch away.

“They will seek you,” he repeats, quieter. The words are sure and certain; a promise or a prophecy.

“In time,” she agrees and they fall silent.

The sounds of celebration and the flicker of fires between the trees disturb the night invitingly, lively and welcoming, but she is quite content where she is. After a moment he reopens the book and continues reading, though she senses the cautious look he casts at her before he does. But it is just a book and she has forgiven him for worse deeds, so she cannot bring herself to hate him for it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added slow burn to the tags, in case that was unclear before. Not a whole lot happens here fast.

Ben has not slept in days.

He has not slept well in years, truthfully, but this constant state of alertness wears on him even worse. This deep in the enemy territory, just on the brink of an unknown future, he refuses to let his mind drift with sleep. Rey does not sleep either, he knows. He can hear her restlessness through the night and by day she grows ever more weary and wary. There are permanent shadows in her eyes, even when the rest of the rebel camp grows exuberant with victory. She exchanges hushed, agitated words with her friends just beyond the earshot, and when she looks at Ben afterwards there is worry and doubt in her eyes. Whether her concern is for him or because of him, Ben cannot even begin to guess.

"Come with me," he wants to say to her. _Run away with me,_ it means, but he has nowhere to take her and nothing to offer her. So, Ben bites his tongue and bides his time, waiting for the ax to fall, because they cannot ignore him forever. Eventually the totality of his defeat will settle in and someone will return to the question of what to do about him.

Ben has played through various scenarios in his head. He has entertained the idea of killing them all in a familiar, frenzied flash of violence, but, as if reading his mind, Rey always turns to him when those kinds of thoughts grow louder and crosses the distance that separates them. And despite the wariness, doubt and mistrust, she looks at him and smiles, says something quietly just for him to hear, and the ghost of Kylo Ren in his head goes quiet.

Yet, they cannot ignore him forever. Ben imagines being cast out on some miserable planet that is both a prison and a punishment, perhaps one not unlike Exegol. And he wonders would Rey come to him, from time to time. Would she look at him again and smile in that careful way she does now? Or would she slowly forget that he ever even existed, until the darkness of a desolate world has grinded the rediscovered humanity from him again? He would not be the first Sith to end up like that and history does enjoy repeating itself.

"Come with me," he yearns to say. _Run away with me_. But these are her people and she has no reason to leave them behind. This is the cause she vehemently defended while he sought to destroy it. This is her field of victory with her banners on the high arches, so Ben keeps his quiet and soaks in her cautious kindness while it lasts.

Even so, they cannot ignore him forever. He imagines leaving, stealing a ship and disappearing into the vast void. He is clever and he is powerful; there is no question whether he would make it out there in the struggling, stumbling universe. But before any of these thoughts have the time to thrive into plans, Rey always reaches for the Force somewhere just beyond the edge of his sight, gentle and precise, and it sings beautifully in his bones, making the idea of leaving without her suddenly unbearable.

So Ben waits.

He meditates to make up for the sleep he denies himself. He closes his eyes, lets his breaths grow slow, and then reaches outwards in the Force, tasting this foreign world, the people, the very fabric of the universe in this precise place. In the middle of it is Rey who shines to him like a beacon. It is difficult to imagine that he ever struggled to find her, as bright and tempting as she calls to him now. At night she is even closer, pretending sleep within an arm’s reach. _Run away with me_ , he wants to whisper to her in the dark, but does not dare. Her proximity is a hard-fought prize he is not yet willing to lose in a fool’s gamble.

Then, just before the third dawnbreak, during the darkest hours of the planet’s rotation, the guard withdraws. One moment they are there, then suddenly all five are gone. Ben blinks his eyes open in the dark, all senses alert, because he can recognize an omen easily enough; the ax is about to fall. He looks to his left and Rey is already looking back, eyes dark and wide. The forest around them is lush with the sounds of night creatures, but the rebel camp is mostly quiet. They celebrated long into the night again, but in the early morning hours most everyone is asleep.

Rey rolls quietly to her feet, eyes scanning towards the camp. Whatever she is looking for, she seems to find it, because she next grabs her small backpack and adjusts both of the sabers to her belt.

She turns to him and whispers, “Come with me.”

There is a careful question in there somewhere, a request, a plea. He gets up quietly.

“Do you need--?” she begins to ask, looking around, but falls silent. He can guess her train of thought easily enough.

“I don’t have anything else,” he replies, truthfully. He has only the clothes on his back and her, everything else is gone. Whatever Kylo Ren once had now lies in smoking ruins across the galaxy, and all that ever was Ben Solo's has grown cold in their graves. Therefore, when she starts to leave, following her is the obvious thing to do.

She reaches for him blindly with her left hand and he does not hesitate to take it. It feels significant that he is allowed this, touching beyond harming and healing, simply for the sake of touching. Her hand is small and there are calluses on the palm and the fingers, some foreign, some familiar. A scavenger's hand. A _Jedi's_ hand. She shoots him a look over her shoulder that makes Ben realize he has stopped walking. She seems to understand, however, as something softens on her face and she tugs him along gently.

“Come on,” she urges. _Run away with me,_ he hears, so he trails after her, along the treeline, through the thick shadows by the bonfires, past the oblivious night-watch. Their path is suspiciously vacant of curious eyes. They quickly reach the spacecrafts forgotten haphazardly among the trees in the earlier frenzied joy of victory. She leads him on past the hulls and under wings until Ben recognizes the old Corellian vessel before them. His father’s ship. His step falters.

“It’s fast, it’s familiar and it’s big enough,” Rey says and it’s not a statement as much as an argument.

“I killed him,” he bites out, the wrongness of it weighing in his chest.

“Good thing it’s my ship, isn’t it?” Rey comments. “We could take Master Luke’s X-Wing, but that will be one miserable trip.”

They had taken the X-Wing already to get there, wrapped together in the one-pilot cockpit, both battle worn and aching. Yet, having her that close, living and breathing, smelling of dust and ozone and something undefinable but already familiar… Miserable is not the word Ben would choose, but he gets the point.

“Chewbacca might disagree that it’s your ship,” Ben points out, recalling the way his father’s furry friend was as in love with the old rust bucket as his father had been.

“He can fight me for it later, if he wants to,” Rey says. The idea is ludicrous that anyone would seek to fight her after what she has done. Maybe she does not even realize.

Together they silently and efficiently prepare the ship for departure. When he sits next to her in the second seat, an unwelcome thought comes to him that stealing the Millenium Falcon could very well be the only thing he has ever done that might have made his father proud. The strangeness of his fate dawns on him, then, in the wake of an acknowledgement how far he must have strayed to end up here.

Rey is familiar with the ship, that much becomes soon clear. The ease with which she handles her and her odd quirks makes him wonder how that came to be, how long she and Han Solo were acquainted. It is an unfortunate thought, as well, and an acute reminder of how little he knows of her and even of his own father.

“You seem to have a heading in mind,” he notices, after Rey has guided them out of the atmosphere and sets in coordinates. The cold, unfiltered light of a strange star lights her face while she fiddles with the controls, making her look younger than her years.

“I do,” she confirms, but leans then heavily back in her pilot’s seat and closes her eyes, sighing, “But you don’t have to come with me.”

There is a brief moment when he feels the familiar thrum of poisonous anger rise. It flares suddenly, startlingly strong and violent. It is an unbearable thought to have come this far only for her to turn him away now. The Force jumps to his anger eagerly, readily, and she must feel it, because her eyes snap open. The look she casts him is strangely exasperated, which makes him falter.

“I am going to Tatooine,” she tells him, “And you’re welcome to join me, but as I told you before, you’re not my prisoner. If you come with me, it will be as my…” she hesitates, stumbles, but carries on determined, “Friend, hopefully. If that is not what you want, then just name a place and you will be there as soon as this ship can take you.”

Friend is such a weak word to describe the inescapable way the Force and destiny seem to sing between them, but he nods anyway.

“I will go with you,” he says and it is not a decision, as much as a statement of fact.

She seems relieved, and it astonishes him that even now, after he has followed her through half the galaxy and all of its darkest places, she still has so little faith. It is somewhat alarming and makes him wonder if he is still doing something wrong, being somehow unclear.

“Why Tatooine?” he asks curiously, while she eases the ship into hyperdrive.

She shrugs a little. “It seemed appropriate.”

“Hot, hostile, mostly uninhabitable. It is a hateful place,” he tells her, “Appropriate is not the first word to come to mind.”

“I’m from Jakku, remember? All that sounds strangely familiar,” she points out, amused, but then grows curious, “Have you been there?”

“Once,” he replies, but doesn’t amend. It was a long time ago and whatever fond memories he had of his uncle who took him there have long since been tainted by what came to pass after. Rey does not ask, only nods.

“I hear it orbits twin stars,” she says, “I think… I think I would like to see it.”

She is looking at the blackness that stretches before them and her expression is wistful. She is from Jakku, he realizes, Jakku that is hot, hostile and hateful. Everything out here must be a wonder to her, a miracle after another, for she has not yet been desensitized by the infinite possibilities of an endless universe. He looks into the void, as well, and for a moment he sees it as she does, simultaneously ancient and new, terrifying and exhilarating.

“Are we running away?” the question slips from him unbidden and she turns to look at him, startled by the bluntness of his curiosity. For a moment she hesitates, weighing her words, and he wonders if she will lie.

She opts for the truth, “Yes. I suppose we are.”


	5. Chapter 5

Soon after leaving Jakku, Rey was forced to acknowledge that space puts her on the edge.

She is a planetside dweller through and through, completely comfortable only when there is solid ground beneath her feet and a sky above her head. There is something reassuring about genuine gravity and the air pressure of an atmosphere that she cannot find in the artificially controlled environment of spacecrafts, even on a ship as familiar as the Millennium Falcon. She loves the ship, the idea of freedom it symbolizes, but she can never quite forget about the instant death that lurks just beyond the thin metal walls. Besides, the Falcon is _old._ While the age is part of the ship’s charm, every now and then there is a rattle in her engines somewhere, metal creaking and electrics sizzling, that makes Rey’s heartbeat grow louder in her ears and brings cold sweat to her brow.

She feels much the same way about Ben Solo and Kylo Ren, as she feels about the Millennium Falcon and space: inexplicably fond and drawn to the first despite the faults, and terrified and morbidly fascinated by the latter. It is impossible to have one without the other; to have the freedom of the Falcon without the dread of the void; to have Ben without the Sith lurking somewhere just below the surface. Like the ship sometimes rattles and reminds her of the constant peril, sometimes something in Ben rattles similarly, dangerous and deadly.

They take turns sleeping and minding the ship on their progress through the stars.

The first time Rey says, “I have to sleep,” Ben looks almost surprised.

“Are you not afraid I will simply hijack the ship and take us wherever I want to?” he asks, but she cannot detect a threat in his voice, only genuine curiosity.

“I’m too tired to care,” she replies truthfully, and adds after brief consideration, “Besides, I'm pretty sure I could take you.”

His lips narrow into a thin line. For a moment she thinks it is a flare of the same easily ignited ire that seemed to drive Kylo Ren, but then he looks at her and there is no anger in his eyes, only suppressed amusement, as dry as the winds on Jakku.

“We’ll have to see about that again some time,” he says and his voice goes dark with a dangerous promise. It makes her heartbeat quicken and fingers itch for something she cannot name, maybe a fight or something else entirely. She escapes hastily, feeling his eyes on her retreating back. Despite the exhaustion, sleep takes a long time to arrive.

Eventually, they stop at a small trading post not too far off their course for supplies and food. They left the Resistance in a hurry and with little preparation, and if Tatooine is anything like Jakku, Rey knows better than to arrive unprepared.

“You should stay with the Falcon,” Rey suggests carefully, when they are docking at the satellite station. She focuses on guiding the old smuggling vessel into position to avoid looking at Ben as she says it, but she can sense his disapproval loud in the small space they share.

“It would be unwise to board an unfamiliar market station alone,” he says and Rey knows he is right. The station looks as innocent as any other trading post in the galaxy, as it orbits a small planet of an insignificant system, but this far away from the core systems, there is no telling what they sell. It could be a surprisingly short transition from a customer to a commodity. Yet, the circumstances leave them with few options.

“It is not a good idea to board it with Kylo Ren, either," Rey points out.

“I wore the mask for a reason. My face is less familiar than the persona," Ben argues and there is a wedge of irritation forming between his brows. Rey experiences a sudden urge to reach over and smooth it away with her fingertips.

She keeps her hands carefully on the controls, as she replies, “It was not the mask that made you recognizable. You have a… presence. It is safer if you wait here.”

He looks ready to argue further, so Rey reaches to her belt and unclips Leia’s saber. His face draws into an even deeper frown when she tries to hand it over and he does not accept the offered weapon. It is not exactly the reaction she was hoping for.

“I will take BB-8. I’ll go in, get the things we need and come right back,” she says, trying for a reassuring tone. “We’ll be out of here before we draw much attention. If someone comes snooping before that, I trust you can handle it.”

“And if your trust is misplaced?” he asks, sharply, and she knows they are talking about a wider issue here than just the impromptu detour.

And Rey knows it is reckless, leaving him with a ship and a saber and a blatant opportunity, because on a whim he could leave her stranded here in the middle of foreign space and with no way home. But it also feels necessary to risk it, because she _doesn’t_ know if her trust is misplaced or not. She grew up on a cruel world, so she knows that untested trust is worthless and she has to be _certain._ She has to be certain about _him,_ because anything else is too dangerous to the entire free world.

Rey can’t help a small wan smile, as she replies truthfully, “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

She offers the lightsaber again and this time he accepts it.

“Your credulity will be your ruin,” Ben tells her, the words strangely admonishing. She huffs a laugh.

“Fine, if that’s how you want it,” she says, then calls over her shoulder, “D-O! You’re in charge. Keep an eye on him while I’m gone.”

The small droid rolls over to her excitedly, calling, “yes, yessir!” and turns obediently to stare Ben with his one electronic eye.

“Better?” Rey asks, innocently.

Ben levels her a flat stare, as he says, “Get off my ship.”

"Hostile intent!" D-O chirps immediately and swings back and forth on his one wheel, agitated and battle-ready.

“Good droid,” Rey complements fondly, and she is still laughing when she snatches her backpack and leaves the ship.

...

Fortunately, the trade station does not dabble in slave trade. Or spice, probably, since Rey gets no offers during her first cursory glance through the few trader stalls, which likely means that the back rooms are stacked with stolen and repurposed Order weaponry. Places like this rarely receive outsiders, as they tend to be simple hubs of local trade networks, meeting points between few adjacent systems. Therefore, Rey gets her share of suspicious looks and sideways glances, but no one seems openly hostile. There are various species and races represented and utility and food items of all sorts on display. It should be easy enough to find the necessities.

She exchanges news for food.

“Is it true? Is it _true_?” a humanoid trader asks her, his voice shaking with both excitement and desperation.

“Which part?” she asks.

“The battle! Is the First Order gone?”

“Not yet, but the last I heard it was going quickly,” she replies, and a mixture of relief and old agony crosses the man’s face.

He looks at her and offers an explanation, “I’m from Hosnian Prime. They took _everything_ from me.”

Rey silently thanks the stars that she left Ben behind and only nods her understanding and sympathy. There is no Hosnian Prime anymore, no place for this man to call home, so he lingers here at the edge of the world, lost and forgotten. After all the wars against an impossible enemy, his fate is one shared by thousands, maybe millions of others.

“But keep your wits about you, girl,” he says next, grimly, “It never truly ends.”

The ominous words send a cold shiver down her spine. She nods curtly. “I will.”

Rey packs her few purchases quickly in the backpack, eager to leave. His grief echoes loudly in the Force, reminiscent of the agony of a planet destroyed; the death of a million souls in miniature.

“It never ends,” he mutters one last time as a goodbye, eyes cloudy and mind in some distant place that is long gone. Rey leaves him to his remembrance.

She finds the rest of what she’s looking for, clothes, blankets, _soap,_ from an alien trader of unfamiliar species. The woman is old, her scaly skin wrinkly and a light hue of blue, and her haggling strategy consists of speaking at least five languages, none of which Rey is familiar with. The tradeswoman swaps between one language and another quickly, her prices changing with each language. It is only after a few long, confusing minutes that the woman slips into a sixth language, heavily accented galactic basic.

One minute Rey is alone, haggling prices while both she and the trader pretend not to understand each other, and then in the next Ben is there with her. The world around her hums thickly in the Force, so she knows that he is not really physically there, but his presence is as distracting as ever, nonetheless.

She pretends to lean over to take a closer look at the woman’s wares, to hide how she hisses from the corner of her lips, “Trust runs both ways.”

Ben appears unmoved. “This has happened unintentionally more often than not, would you not agree? My focus slipped and I thought of you. Then I was here."

Rey frowns, considering. Just a moment before she had been thinking of him too, so the two might be connected.

"It is curious that I can see around now as well," Ben reflects, looking over the trader’s wares too. "I could only ever see you before. It would seem that the connection is constantly amplifying. Learning to control it could prove beneficial.”

"Beneficial for whom?" Rey mumbles, before speaks up to the tradeswoman.

"I'm looking for a change of clothes for a man. About this tall," she says and brings a hand up to wave it above Ben's head. "Prefers black."

"Shopping for me now, Rey?"

"You are starting to stink."

Ben's mouth quirks, ever so slightly. The trader is giving Rey an odd look, the gills on her neck flaring and narrow lips pursing. Rey realizes what it must look like to her..

She maintains a straight face when she tells her, "Sometimes I hear a voice in my head."

"Technically, I am not just in your head," Ben points out, unhelpfully.

"Technically, you should be on the ship," she shoots back, glancing at him. Ben gives her an exasperated look and disappears. The hum of the Force around her eases and Rey draws a deep stabilizing breath.

The trader speaks another few words to her in an unfamiliar language again, then swaps to her thick basic, "Crazy girl. You go."

“Not without my gear,” Rey replies, stubbornly. The woman tuts her disapproval, but they finish their business without further incident. Afterwards, the woman casts her a long, hard look.

“I knew a Jedi. When I was a girl, long time ago,” she says and nods towards her weapon. “They are dead. All.”

“Not all,” Rey replies, firmly.

The old woman casts her a dubious look. Then she says slowly, gravely, “It is hard. To be last.”

Rey gets a distinct impression that she is also speaking of herself, as her certainty is so absolute that it can only be born out of experience. But Rey is no longer sure if she is the last, truly, as she thinks of Ben and Finn, too, and maybe many others simply waiting to be found.

“I don’t intend to be the last,” Rey tells her, truthfully, “Maybe a first.”

The woman tuts again and shakes her angular head despairingly, “Crazy girl. You go.”

Her sharp teeth are bared in a strange fashion and it might be a smile, so Rey goes with a quiet, grateful, “Thank you.”

...

Ben reappears when she is on her way back to the ship.

"Rey, we've got company," he informs briefly, words urgent and severe, and then disappears again. Rey doesn't hesitate for a moment, but breaks into run, BB-8 whirring at her heels.

She reaches the ship bay quickly to find the Falcon ready for departure, engines running and cargo hatch welcomingly open. She boards, slaps the controls to close the hatch and hurries through the ship. Halfway to the cockpit, she encounters D-O who rolls to her and lets out a series of noises; words and beeps mixing into an incomprehensible sound of distress.

“Don’t worry, it’s going to be fine,” she assures the little droid, putting on her calmest voice, as she steps in the cockpit.

“That droid is unnaturally attached to you,” Ben comments, then draws her attention to the radars of the ship. There are three TIE fighters approaching the station, still far, but clear on the radars and visibly slowing down to docking speeds.

“The Order?” Rey asks, urgently, because why would they be _here_? There are only two possible reasons, both alarming and hurtful in equal measure: either someone from the Resistance tipped them off or Ben summoned them while she was gone.

"Deserters," Ben spits out and the tone is all Kylo Ren. There is a fiery flicker of familiar anger and hatred from him and Rey physically flinches when it hits her.

"And what does that make you?" she asks quietly and it seems to make him pause, as he turns to look at her, the sudden fury fading in the face of his hesitation. She hurries on to ask, “Why are they here?"

"The same reason we are. Supplies," Ben guesses, "If they are wise they aiming for the Outer Rim too where it's easier to disappear."

Rey chews her lip. “Do we--”

“Run?” Ben offers.

“--Fight?” Rey finishes.

They exchange a look.

“I doubt they’re looking for a fight. But they might recognize the ship and even now someone out there would be willing to pay for its capture,” Ben says, considering, "How's your flying?"

"The best," she shoots out, sharper than necessary, immediately on the defense.

“Good,” he nods, “Let’s see how many I can shoot down before you get us out of here.”

In the end it turns out that Ben was right and they are not looking for a fight at all. Only one of the fighters seems to pay them any mind, as it trails an inquisitive loop around them, while Rey guides the the Falcon away from the station toward more open space. Rey punches the ship into hyperdrive, before Ben has the chance to take his shot. Despite all of its faults and quirks, the Falcon _is_ fast, easily putting lightyears between them and anyone who might seek to follow.

“They were fools to come. Former Order troopers will not receive a warm welcome there,” Rey tells Ben later, thinking of the Hosnian man and his raw grief that could easily flare into anger and a bloody revenge. It is unlikely that he was the only one on board from whom the First Order had taken all and then some.

“What choice do they have?” Ben asks, astute, “If the Order falls, they either to go down with it or deflect and hope for whatever mercy the universe has to offer.”

He looks at her then, long and intense. “I suppose I was luckier than most will be.”

Rey doubts luck had anything to do with it. The longer she has thought about it, _them_ and the way everything unfolded, the more predestined it seems. As if every step she ever took, maybe even every step her parents and grandparents took, were only meant to bring her _here_ , with him. And maybe every mistake he ever made, along with every miscalculation of _his_ family, served the same purpose of bringing him there too. But even in her own head it sounds far-fetched and fanciful, so she does not say anything, just nods a quiet agreement.

Ben offers back the saber she had given him earlier. “Here.”

Rey considers it briefly, but the decision is easy in the end, “You should keep it.”

Surprise crosses his face, then he looks down at the saber curiously, “I thought it was yours?” 

“I never found the time to build my own," she tells him, shaking her head, "It was Leia’s.”

Something uncomfortable flashes in his eyes at that, but he is quick to hide it. The previous surprise does not fade, though, only turns more contemplative.

“I see,” he says and the tone is mellower, the words quieter. “I never knew she had one.”

“She didn’t really. She gave it up a long time ago. I suppose she was always more of a tactician than a fighter,” Rey says, and just talking about Leia aches in her chest. Rey has not found the time to grieve her yet, between all the fighting and worrying. Leia’s comforting solid presence had become something of a lifeline to her and feeling nothing but the loud absence of her in the Force now is too painful to think about. She knows Ben understands, because there is the same wordless regret in his eyes when he looks at her.

“All the more reason for you to keep it, then, if she decided to give it to you,” he says. She can detect the reluctance in his voice, however, the desire to keep this small link, a token of remembrance. The longer she spends with him like this; sharing words, thoughts, and the Force, the easier it becomes to read him, to reach the man behind the persistent facade of cool indifference.

“I don’t think she would have minded for you to have it,” Rey replies, “Considering the circumstances.”

He hesitates, fingers tightening around the hilt of the saber, knuckles turning white. Then he confesses, “She came to me just before her death.”

Rey draws a sharp breath, an understanding dawning. To reach across the lightyears, to reach _him_ in the state he was in, tethering on the edge of the Dark and the Light, was an impressive, impossible exercise of the Force, especially at her age and after everything she had been through, too. Leia's sudden passing suddenly makes horrifying, heart-wrenching sense.

“She came to me. Much like my uncle did. And my father,” he continues, “and they are all dead for it.”

The words ring hard and true between them. He looks at her and while the expression is carefully blank, there is hardness in his eyes, a different kind of hate directed solely at himself. Two conflicting desires rise in her at once: one to reach for him and to say something comforting to chase away the shadows, the other to scream at him, throw hurtful words and maybe a punch, because she loved them too. They were _hers_ as much as they were his.

Ben says, quieter, “You should have let me die when you had the chance.”

She bites back the first response to come to mind, _Yes, maybe I should have._

She swallows down the second, _I could never, you are mine too._

“Dying is easy,” she says in the end. “It’s living that’s hard. Deal with it.”

Ben has no response to that. He turns and leaves quietly, leaving Rey alone with her surmounting grief. After his steps have faded, Rey draws her knees up to her chest in the pilot's seat and cries. She mourns them all, Leia, Luke, even Han. She cries for them for a long time, and then she cries some more for Ben too, because she knows that he cannot do it himself.

It is only later, when the tears have run dry that Rey realizes that Ben has kept Leia's saber.


End file.
